


Green

by Jay_eagle



Series: Fandot Creativity Night Fics [9]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, MJN Air Is A Family, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: For a fandot creativity night prompt, 'green'.





	

“You look… green, Douglas.”

 

“Good job it goes with a blue uniform, then, eh?” Douglas’ return was weak, though, and Martin’s brow wrinkled in concern.

 

“I have control?” he asked, careful to keep any note of command from his voice.

 

“You have control.” Douglas relinquished the yoke, and sat back with a sigh.

 

“How are you feeling?” Martin’s eyes flicked over the instrument panel, reassured all was well with GERTI, at least.

 

“Hum. Sick.” Douglas winced as he put his hand to his stomach. “Unglamorously so.”

 

Martin buzzed the cabin call button. Douglas raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother to ask a question, which worried Martin more. After a short pause, Arthur poked his head in. “What’s up, chaps?” he asked, merrily.

 

“Sickbags, please, Arthur.”

 

“Sickbags?” Arthur frowned. “Are we playing pass the parcel again? To pass the time?”

 

“No,” Martin replied. “My co-pilot finds himself…”

 

“In some gastric distress,” Douglas finished, hastily.

 

“Gast-what?”

 

“Just get the sickbags, Arthur.” Martin was relieved when Arthur scurried off. “Do we need to land?”

 

“No.” Douglas waved a floppy hand. “Carry on. I’ll just… die quietly.”

 

“That’s… concerningly inconsistent with everything I know about you.”

 

“Don’t fuss.” Douglas had leant his head back and closed his eyes.

 

“I’m your captain. It’s my job to fuss.”

 

“Don’t we all know it?”

 

Martin pursed his lips. “If your aim is to make me so grumpy that I keep us in the sky just to make you feel worse from the turbulence we’re about to encounter, no dice.”

 

“Turbulence?” Douglas cracked an eye open just wide enough to glimpse the reading, and groaned. “Ugh.”

 

“Damn it.” Martin reached to call ATC just as Arthur flurried back in carrying what appeared to be GERTI’s entire annual allowance of sickbags.

 

“ _Three_ would have been more than enough,” Douglas sniped, but it was said without any of his usual vehemence.

 

“That’s it, we’re landing.” Martin waved away Douglas’ feeble protests, and picked up the radio.

 

They discovered three things that day; first that mid-air appendicitis did indeed necessitate the urgent landing that Martin had made; second, that a seriously unwell Douglas was a prospect none of them wished to contemplate again for a very long time; and last that Douglas’ estimate of three sick bags was insufficient by a factor of two.

 

 _Still_ , thought Martin, ruefully attempting to sponge vomit from his cuff. _Uniforms could be replaced. Excellent first officers – loyal best friends – they were much harder to source, if lost._


End file.
